


Broken Vow

by rekishi



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-11
Updated: 2009-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin remembers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Vow

Merlin pondered an illustration of _Idylls of the King_ which showed them both walking among unfamiliar ruins. Arthur, in this version, reminded him distinctly of various renditions of Jesus, while he himself was an old man and obviously despairing over his charge's lack of attention. At least that last part the artist had gotten right.

A vow broken.

If only Geoffrey hadn't kept such detailed records, if only he could have made it there in time to destroy them. But he had been kneeling on a battlefield, Arthur's head pillowed in his lap, hot tears falling on the dying King's face. Merlin remembered that day like it hadn't been almost fifteen centuries. Indisputably, Mordred had considered it a mercy-killing. Arthur would have died a terrible death, slowly drowning on his own body-fluids filling up his lungs and no matter Merlin's skills in medicine or magic, there was no saving him.

Of course, the histories and legends omitted this.

They also omitted that the men had been less merciful with Mordred, attributing the young man's death to his adversary instead. No mention of the flaying of skin, the consequent dismembering of arms and legs, staunched bleeds while Merlin was helpless to do anything, holding onto himself to keep his grief under control and not let his magic reign free; all of that had been purged from the collective memory.

Not them though. Not Arthur, not Merlin. The love of Lancelot and Gwen for a while, until some romancer in France dug it up again; Morgana had retained a reputation as the fairy queen but that would only have pleased her. Legend had Uther killed off without too much consequence rather early on, earlier than reality would ever have permitted it.

What was left now of those days? Merlin, cursed not only with youth but also with remembering all of it and everlasting regret. All the young men who had been born with a piece of Arthur's soul, who had died doing something stupidly heroic or just something incredibly stupid, but none of them had been Arthur, no deeper connection had formed.

A shadow fell over the book and he looked up from it; the coffee on the table in front of him had gone cold and a tall silhouette was outlined against the shop's window, only barely made more than that considering the scant interior illumination. "I'm sorry," the newcomer said in a voice Merlin hadn't heard in over a thousand years. "I'm aware that it might sound extremely odd, because we certainly have never met. Yet there is a feeling of recognition and anticipation I cannot shake. May I sit down?"

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> _Idylls of the King_ is a poem collection by Alfred Lord Tennyson. The illustration mentioned is this one: [](http://img504.imageshack.us/i/idyllsoftheking1.jpg/)


End file.
